Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it? Nigel Farage coming all the way to Scotland just to hide from the press. He could have done that in a cupboard at home and saved everyone the bother.
In even more thrilling news, a letter has arrived in these parts. An actual letter from a real person who had taken the trouble to compose their thoughts, find a stamp, and hike to a post box. Before I had read a word of the contents, the correspondent struck me as a class act, and so it proved.
The letter’s subject was BBC Scotland cancelling River City, an act I had previously described as cultural vandalism.
My correspondent had a cooler disposition and a better way with words. Summing up how the soap had been brought low in recent years, she wrote: “Its viewing figures were adversely affected by stop/start production runs, erratic scheduling and a general lack of promotion.” Spot on.
And then came this: “I began watching River City out of loyalty to my city, but came to the view that it makes an important contribution to the culture of central Scotland.”
Watching out of loyalty to my city. How wonderful, how generous, how Scottish is that? Of the thousands of words written and spoken about River City, all the BBC statements, the petition to save the show, the debate in the Scottish Parliament, not one sentence hits home as hard as that contribution. Watching out of loyalty to my city. There writes someone who “gets” what River City means, and why it is not just another programme that can be binned by BBC Scotland because its face no longer fits.
But what do you know, no one is listening. Not to my correspondent, not to those who have signed the petition, not to MSPs, or ministers. It seems the main arguments in favour of keeping River City - that it provides jobs and training for working-class Scots who might otherwise never get a start in TV, as well as being a pretty decent drama beloved by its audience - are not enough for BBC Scotland to change its mind.
We know this because the executive who made the decision appeared before Holyrood’s culture committee at the end of May and said so. Hayley Valentine, director of BBC Scotland, told MSPs that River City, with its 200,000 viewers in Scotland compared to Shetland’s 700,000 “did not pass the value for money test”.
But the money saved by axing River City would help to fund three new short-run dramas, she confirmed. Though these will “absolutely cost more to make”, the BBC would “expect” them to deliver much bigger audiences than River City and “really hope” they will.
Expectations and hope. In other words, BBC Scotland is taking a punt. Making all those people redundant on a gamble. Having said that axing River City was a creative decision, it really does come down to money.
As for River City being a way into TV, Ms Valentine said opportunities would still be offered across a wide range of other programmes. So that’s okay then. Nothing more to see here, folks. Except it is not okay. It is very far from okay.
Cancelling River City has always been about more than the end of one programme. It’s about BBC Scotland fighting Scotland’s corner within the corporation, and making sure the BBC represents and is reflective of all those who pay for it.
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On the former, was London asked for more money to fund the short-run dramas? Was there ever a chance of building on the UK-wide iPlayer audience for River City by running a promotion campaign? Where are the figures showing potential job and training opportunities lost versus those created? Was there any analysis or was this simply a case of executives thinking they knew best?
I understand BBC Scotland’s ambition. It wants another Baby Reindeer. It wants the next Adolescence. But it doesn’t have the money of a Netflix or an Apple+, which makes it all the more important to ensure that it is making decisions for the right reasons. When it comes to River City, I’m not sure it is.
Just as to govern is to choose, running the BBC is all about choice. Who is out and who is in, who gets the money and who doesn’t. BBC Scotland decided, ultimately, that River City was expendable. It has made the arguments about viewing figures and opportunities offered elsewhere, but I think there is another factor at work here.
For my money - £174.50 licence fee - River City was vulnerable because it was a Scottish working-class soap made by working-class casts and crews. No one thought there would be the backlash there has been. It wasn’t like cancelling Question Time with its well-connected panellists and audiences (now there’s an idea).
The class ceiling exists in the media in general - heck, in society as a whole. It’s not just BBC Scotland. Indeed, BBC Scotland has done more than most to widen access and should be commended for it. Now and then, a youngster will appear who doesn’t sound like your typical BBC sort. They thrive on the attention and encouragement, but then at some point they hit that class ceiling. They don’t get invited into the room where it happens, so they can’t shape the corporation’s future, and the story of inequality rumbles on.
Representation matters. As the old saying goes, if you can see it, you can be it. For many working-class Scots, River City was “their” soap, and therefore “their” way into TV. Doors opened that had too often been closed, and if it could happen for the guy down the road, it could happen for you. You cannot put a price on that kind of positive PR.
The same goes for viewer loyalty. Fans of River City have had their patience tested to a degree that would not have happened with any other show. Yet they’ve kept faith with the programme. Even now, they trust executives will repay that faith and cancel the cancellation, but will they? Back to you, BBC Scotland.
Alison Rowat is a senior politics and features writer on The Herald. Contact alison.rowat@heraldandtimes.co.uk
